


Hidden Pearls.

by alcoholinspired



Series: The hidden pearls series. [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Drama, F/M, M/M, Points of View
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:45:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholinspired/pseuds/alcoholinspired
Summary: Had I forgot to mention this is a series?Different points of view of different relationships.





	1. Anders

**Author's Note:**

> Posting from my blog: https://alcoholinspired.tumblr.com/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting from my blog: https://alcoholinspired.tumblr.com/
> 
> Comments, suggestions, ideas? Feel free to say!  
> Have a good reading.

Fugitive. Coward. Abomination. That’s what they say. That’s what you’ll hear. At first meet he’s vague, with a very poorly masked anger hidden, just like he in his clothes, under layers and layers of good vocabulary, charm, sass and a sharp tongue; a very sharp one, ready to shot cynicism and aggressiveness in humorous tones. Good luck trying to pass by all his layers, good luck trying to discover a history he might be not be able to share anymore.

He comes with a friend, a very different one, together and inseparable they are, sometimes one, sometimes two will appear. They are a cry for freedom, a cry for Justice. Whenever his friend speaks there are thunders and echoes around. But he will rarely show himself for you.

For all his talk for freedom, he will latch on you like a lifeline at every scraps of attention, for each display of mercy look at you with the same eyes that look at an idol, with the same eyes that while in dark, look at a bright light. For all his talk of freedom, he will follow you through dark deep roads, dirty dungeons and dangerous deeds. And each passing day walls as thick as the ones in the roads will be built upon you.

At a crisis point, where all his beliefs are shaken, he will jump on you, breaking fastest than the blink of an eye, years of longing and layers of walls, latching with the desperation and affliction of a thirsty man in an oasis, wrapping you in long arms with pointed and knotty hands, in an attempt to make for the years of longing an aching. Promising you a river of blood.

Here comes the first night, finally. So much built up, so much broken down. For all the burning passion and anxiety of the hours before, a more controlled man will step in your room, ready to leave at any word, telling you his fears and concerns. If even after this last shy warning, shaded by fear, you make it with him, you’ll see him with what is possibly the most honest and hopeful smile that he can give at this point in his life. Eyes that even in chaos are colored with hopes of having another pair to drown themselves in, be it in blood, be it in magic, be it an all consuming obsession. In a warm place lighted by fire, the pale face with the hard lines that mirror his inner turmoil, reflecting the yellow tint of flames will be relaxed, just as the amber of his eyes are now even more evident, purely for finding something to shine upon.

And remember his friend? His uncanny glowing one? He came too, but don’t mention it to him, else you’ll hear a saddened plead. He is there too, uncertain, for it is his first time and it is easier to disapprove and go back, he will be there, shyly reaching for your face, trying to grasp everything you are, but fearful still, for he doesn’t want to break something beautiful. The faintest fade glow he can make, to feel and not to destroy it.

And somewhere in time he talked about you to his friend, and by the way he does it, he talked his spirit off more than once, between the private world they are, you stand certainly their second top thread. In the most unexpected person you just found a tender and devoted lover, contrary to what he is for the world, a hard and brutal abomination, or a fugitive healer only caring for his cause. For all the talk about freedom, he took the chance to be tied down to you with all he can. For all the talk about freedom, they took the chance to be tied down to you with all they can.

Somewhere down the line you also earned a friend, a powerful one, that at the darkest and most confusing hours will come out in all of his blue shades to not allow you to be taken from them, either by death or temptation.

At the very end, when everything is falling down to pieces, when fire and despair are spreading in a cursed place, now loudly without a way to push it further, because he just removed the delicate stage that held it together, he will stay right there, waiting for your judgment, willing to accept only your Justice to be brought upon him. Because he loves you so much he’s gonna let you kill him. Because they love you so much they’re gonna let you kill them.


	2. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice toward Aura after entering Kristoff's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting from my blog: https://alcoholinspired.tumblr.com/
> 
> Comments, suggestions, ideas? Feel free to say!  
> Have a good reading.

Envy: the desire for something it cannot have. Once It was perfect, everything was simple, was easy, was dull. Once he was just one thing, in a world where things where very well determined, in a world devoid of forms he walked among it’s peers, like Valor, Compassion, Faith, Love. With those they cherished their home and pitied the poor mortal souls that lived outside. But inside It’s home there were also lesser beings, ones It admonished, ones that wanted to escape what for them was a prison, ones that wanted to feel the world outside. Those ones were Pride, Lust, Desire and many others.

But fate played a funny prank on It. And at the end It was trapped outside home. Just like the ones he despised would plot and kill to achieve. And in this new world It had boundaries, well determined rotting boundaries. Those boundaries of what once were a man, now only a corpse that was taking too long to decay, that had nerves that could feel but now only produced spasmodic movements when called by It. That had eyes that could see but now lost it’s bright. A mouth to talk, a brain to recall and a heart to warm. It was trapped in a dead body, a profanity, that could only produce a faint image of the new world that stood before it, that could only remember like a dream it’s own memories.

And those memories? Ah, those memories. It scavenged through the lingering mind, quickly finding an Injustice to be corrected, and as quickly finding a face to return. And for the first moment in It’s existence, It faced a doubt, a forked road between duty and Desire. A duty for Justice and a Desire for… Something. In amidst a fog of doubts It decided to investigate.

Dwelving deeper in the memories still lingering It found. A young face giggling with an awkward conversation, a woman, with wheat colored hair and black wide eyes, eyes that looked at It with a shine never seem, filled with tender feelings never felt, and in the black mirror of those eyes It saw his reflex, equally shining, equally tender, in a fair and just exchange, a perfect balance. Beautiful.

And It felt for the first time peace, warmness, a memory of how the beating muscle beated differently, more contrived, but pleasantly, and Desire that burned the privies. Somehow It could tell the woman felt it too. When It was just starting to lose itself in faint memories she called a name:

“Kristoff…”

And the dream shattered like a replica from it’s home would do, all the feelings turned sour, where there were a sweet contrivance of the heart was a sour spreading feeling, and the fire from beneath extinguished just as fast. If feelings had smell, they would smell as foul as the rotting vessel It inhabited. The peace in mind gave place to a barren wasteland full of despair and loneliness. The sudden realization those looks and feelings weren’t for It.

But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Just. In a last attempt to call her attention It said low like a plea:

“Aura…”

But the voice that came to memory wasn’t rusty and somber, was instead his voice, fogged by pleasure, warmed by love, and it was received by his woman, by It’s woman, tenderly and passionate. And in a mutual embrace, skin to skin, sweat to sweat, they kissed and together found joy. And many other memories like this permeated It’s mind.

But none of them were It’s. None of them were for it.

But there was no escape, for It’s vessel only had two priorities: the monstrosities that ended killing him, and the woman that warmed him. That loved Him. Not It.

From now on It was lost. Torn between aspiration for Justice, and want for… Something.

Something It could not have.

But this new feeling prodded It to search for the woman. It needed her to acknowledge It’s existance, to do her something. And maybe, just maybe, have her look to It like she looked to him.

But she did not. At first her eyes shone with joy for him, but when the cruel truth revealed itself, the tenderness in her eyes died, now they mirrored his dead eyes. All It could do was a promise, in a last vain hope. She accepted It’s promise and with a small hand they both knew, she caressed his face one last time, looked into his eyes one last time, a silent goodbye for him. It was never for the unwelcomed guest, it was never about It. It was just an spectator.

Undesired. Abject. Profane.

And so the seeds of a foul sentiment planted themselves. It did not acknowledged it, but just like the other something, envy already crawled into It’s being.

In a act of Justice, It left the body of the beloved man, only to jump into another one. But this one was so much different. From constitution to principles, this man was not like the other. Something It was glad for. Something It was sad for.

But it was for the better. Let there be no other stupid and silly distractions. No other woman to look into his eyes with tenderness and fire and his eyes reflect hers, both saying without words:

“I love you”.


	3. The Hawke twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick AU with Mage Female Hawke and Warrior Male Hawke relationship and their siblings Bethany and Carver.

Oh the twins. The older duo of the uncanny Hawke family, a warrior and a witch. A man marked by hard work at the farm, sword training and war. A woman marked by the maker with the curse, with a pale snow like face full of vanity. They were so different from their younger siblings, also a mage and a warrior, but while one hid in the shadows for this same curse and the other resented the position assigned, the older ones were a contrast. This blue-eyed witch would not care much for hiding. She wads prideful as a demon, with a wit mind and sharp tongue. So differently from her younger sister, her blue eyes would shine mischievously behind that raven like hair that didn’t seem to want to fit into a pattern. Her sapphire eyes that always seemed to be shaded by something unsaid, they always shone with a piercing light when that mind was into some scheming, or when that silver tongued mouth trowed charming words at people, gaining and breaking their hearts. But her younger sister, poor girl, would make a fool of herself in front of a charming man, she would hide herself at the first sight, lower her head in fear. So innocent and shy. So fearful and ashamed.

And that other older twin, a warrior, marked with so many lines in his face that would fool anyone who tried to guess his age. That were lines of worry, of hard work, of war. Light brown eyes that looked distrustfully at every new person or situation. He was so used to panicking for his twin, always trying to ground her, making her see reason, keeping her out of trouble, out of other man’s hand, out of templars, out of the circle. But it was like trying to pet a wild cat, or a wild wolf, it wore him out. The burden assigned by their father first to him then to his younger brother was too much. Too heavy. He knew what his younger brother felt about his twin, but his twin wasn’t her. What he could never know was what was like to be the last of the line, the one last remembered. He was never nowhere as good with words as his witch, nowhere as good with gestures, nowhere as likeable, and his many attempts at reaching for his brother to ease his burden failed so miserably that their relationship was mostly strained. Their sparring lessons, warrior against warrior, often ended with the need for healing. But healing couldn’t heal the words said in anger, the feelings badly explained and badly received. Differently from his younger brother he did not resented anymore the burden of her security, he embraced her, loved her to a fault, how many times had he stepped in to get her out of the many messes she liked so much to enter? But he was tired. He wanted, he needed someone to rest his head on a chest that would know what is like to be tired, to be too worn out of battle, of work, of sacrificing for a family, of magic.

He wished his little sister would find a man to treat as the princess he knew she was, to care for her like she cared for people, to embrace her and her magic. He wanted his brother to find the purpose he so much lacked, and to also find a loving girl, different from the ones he got and were never able to match him. But when it came to his twin he wasn’t sure. He feared the day she encountered someone so eager to jump into the unknown, he prayed that never happened, it would be the final step she needed to run to the world, consequences be damned. She needed to know what was like to be needed, to have someone who would trust a life on her hands, just like he has to care for her, what was like to have responsibilities.

They weren’t anymore the young twins, unique, equal, that would sleep holding each other’s hands. When her magic appeared their father’s eyes would turn all the attention on her, looking to him a bit glad, a bit sad. Their relationship was strained. There were too many hard words said and shouted at each other. When their little siblings came to life their hands wouldn’t meet if it was not for a fight. Their words would be nothing but filled with sarcasm and insults. For years her place in his chest was occupied by the younger sister, a fearful mage, not like her. His place in her arms were occupied by the younger brother, a warrior full of doubts, not like him. Only when the talents of the younger twins appeared the older two were finally left alone to their sleep.

Somewhere along the deep hours of the night, two long slender hands grabbed a big hardened one to deposit a tender kiss, a silent beg for forgiveness; rough fingers caressed the pale skin; a sad, and a tired smiled mirrored each other and the witch’s place in a broad strong warrior’s chest was reclaimed.


End file.
